


if I could build my whole world around you

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 1940's, Christian Holidays, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Angst, Oblivious Steve Rogers, POV Bucky Barnes, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 11:04:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8622112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: "I know that look. Shes got you wrapped around her finger she does. Better hold on tight to that one. My Gertie was the same way, lord bless her soul. Here, give her a little treat. It's the holidays after all." A weathered hand slips a foil wrapped chocolate in Bucky's and had it been anyone else he would've refused, on principal alone. It's a luxury, sure, but these are good men and deserve nice things too.Still, he imagines the light in Steve's eyes as he takes the sweet. He'd eat it one tiny piece at a time, drawing it out for days.





	

**Author's Note:**

> if I could build my whole world around you darlin'  
> first I'd put heaven by your side  
> pretty flowers would grow wherever you walk honey  
> and over your head would be the bluest sky

"What's your girl cookin' up, Barnes?"

Clarence ask, around a mouthful of cold biscuit. Crumbs fall onto his jacket, thick navy to fend off the bitter cold creeping in. His hair is nearly white as snow and he looks every bit of his seventy four years. He's a good man, a friend. He was the first to befriend Bucky when he began work along the docks eight months prior. 

Bucky's thoughts immediately conjure up messy blonde hair and an incredible ability to burn every meal he attempts. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and, for as much as Steve rants about how unethical and vile the holiday is, they celebrate it. It's a leftover tradition from their childhood when Sarah Rogers would pull together a thin but delicious meal. She could make something from nothing and Steve inherited that skill at least. 

Clarence smacks him on the arm and laughs heartily.

"I know that look. Shes got you wrapped around her finger she does. Better hold on tight to that one. My Gertie was the same way, lord bless her soul. Here, give her a little treat. It's the holidays after all." A weathered hand slips a foil wrapped chocolate in Bucky's and had it been anyone else he would've refused, on principal alone. It's a luxury, sure, but these are good men and deserve nice things too.

Still, he imagines the light in Steve's eyes as he takes the sweet. He'd eat it one tiny piece at a time, drawing it out for days.

"Thanks Clarence. She'll love it."

It's not that Bucky sold the guys a fake story about having a girl. They'd assumed and he never bothered correcting them. Hell he'd give anything for there to be some truth in it.

The older man brushes the damp spots at his eyes with the back of his hand and Bucky turns away, pretends not to notice. The only thing the man has left in this world is his pride and an aging daughter who keeps him well fed. He lost his wife thirty two years ago and is still deep in his mourning.

If that were Steve, if they'd lost one another, Bucky would find it hard to just get out of bed in the morning. The thought of it makes his chest ache. He glances at Clarence who is now packing up his tools and thinks, Heaven couldn't hold me back if I were him. Don't know how he's still living. God knows I wouldn't, could never. 

Just then, a bell rings out signifying quitting time and Bucky carefully pockets the chocolate, choosing his right coat pocket. The side without a hole on the inside.

"See ya soon, Clarence. Give my love to Cecilia," he says as he claps the mans shoulder.

"Now don't forget about that chocolate," Clarence replies with a smile that makes the lines around his eyes crinkle. 

"Wouldn't dream of it," Bucky chuckles. He stuffs a hand inside of the pocket to make sure it hasn't disappeared somehow. His fingers meet tinfoil.

He whistles all the way home.

 

+

 

The apartment is drafty and scented with spiced beets, a blueberry pie from their elderly neighbor, small biscuits pulled together from a minuscule amount of flour, and a steaming bowl of potatoes. Blessedly, Steve hadn't charred the pie upon warming it in the oven. 

It's not much of a feast by most standards but Bucky feels like the richest man in all of Brooklyn as he steps through the door. 

Steve is stirring the pot of beets and wearing two layers of shirts that have been mended nearly to their breaking point. His trousers sag around his waist and his feet are covered in the thickest socks they can afford. He's a sight for sore eyes and Bucky is eternally thankful for this beautiful stubborn sunshine in his life.

 

"You're home," Steve states. He turns and jerks his head in the direction of the food. "Hungry?"

For as long as Bucky can remember they've celebrated the holiday a day earlier as was another Rogers family tradition. 

"Starving. But first," he says as he rummages around in his pocket.

The foil reflects against dim lighting, silver and gold pinstripes, and Steve glares.

"You said you wouldn't do that anymore, Buck."

Sure, he'd stolen tinned fruit before. A block of butter, an egg or two. But he hasn't done that in months, not since he landed a stable job. They'd been down to bare bones and he wasn't about to let Steve go without food.

He takes a pale hand and unfolds it from a fist, presses the chocolate to Steve's palm. "It ain't stolen. Now stop your complainin' and enjoy it."

"How'd you get this?," Steve asks. He begins to slowly peel away the layers, eyes bright, hands eager.

The beets begin to boil, on the edge of burning. Bucky skirts around him and stirs; removes them before they surpass edible. 

"Guy I work with," his palms begin to sweat despite the cool of their apartment. Thanksgiving is the perfect time to show someone how much you care for them, he figures. He'll thank Clarence when he sees him at work, regardless of how this ends. At least he can say he tried.

 

"Yeah?," Steve replies. He breaks off the tiniest bit and slips it in his mouth, moans in a way that makes Bucky nearly drop the spoon. He places it back in the pot, just to be on the safe side.

"Said I outta give it to my girl." He tacks on a wink at the end to drive his point home. 

Steve pauses, mid re-wrapping. "I ain't one of your dames, Buck. 'sides that you shoulda' saved this for Flora. She's gonna be real sore about it when she finds out."

Bucky and Flora? They're nothing special, not even close. He takes her out dancing once every two or three weeks then walks her home, kisses her cheek. In between it all, she talks about a fella shes got her eye on. Kenneth is his name and, according to her, he's real handsome. They're not an item yet but they will be and he doesn't mind a bit. 

"Kenneth," Bucky replies. 

"Who?"

He turns his back to Steve and rescues the pie from the oven. "Her fella, that's his name."

Steve pockets the chocolate and looks down at his feet. He wouldn't have brought her up if he'd known. Wouldn't ever want to hurt his best friend. Still a part of him (that he keeps buried in a shallow grave) is relieved. "Yeah well, her loss."

The pie bubbles as Bucky sets it on the counter. "So, I uh, gave the chocolate to my fella." 

A brief expression of confusion flickers across Steve's face, quickly replaced by resignation. If he thinks Bucky is pitying him he'll throw up his walls faster than Bucky can try to tell him just how wrong he is. 

"You don't hafta do me any favors, Buck."

He can see it; Steve's jaw clenching, straightening as much as he can, a cold glint in his eye.

 

"No. Steve, that's not. Jesus. You can't cut me some slack, can you? Not even now."

"Thanksgiving?"

The greatest inventions have began with a spark, one step at a time. You can't get anywhere if you're not willing to move, to work for it. 

Bucky turns and flicks the oven off, every burner. 

"You," he says, a slow stride in Steve's direction. 

"-can't see a good thing comin' from a mile away." He takes the same hand he'd placed the chocolate in and holds it. Delicate, gently. 

Steve's eyes dart down to their joined hands and back up, briefly landing on Bucky's mouth.

"Buck, you're not makin' any-"

Before he can finish the sentence, can give a speech worthy of the president and twice as long, Bucky kisses his cheek. Sweet and lingering. It renders Steve speechless.

"Steve," Bucky whispers in the quiet still between them. "I gave that chocolate to my fella...that is. If he'll have me."

Steve blinks, lips parted in shock. "Bucky?" What was meant to come out as a question, ends up in breathy whisper. A discovery being made in a stuffy kitchen. An invention built, bit by bit, since childhood.

"That a yes or-"

Steve surges forward, clumsy and grinning. 

He tastes of chocolate and everything Bucky has ever wanted.

 

+

 

Later, after a cold dinner, they recount what they're thankful for with palms and teeth, lips and fingertips.  

**Author's Note:**

> summary lyrics are "If I Could Build My Whole World Around You" by Marvin Gaye. we all know they already did this, both of them. they are the heaven and earth to one another, long before they even knew it. it happened naturally, a slow process built over time. that song is perfect for them, it really is. 
> 
> also I fully believe steve wouldn't care for this holiday once he knew the story behind it but he's a sucker for tradition and he'd keep his ma alive in any way that he could. 
> 
> one last thing, clarence will certainly get a nice homemade christmas gift out of this even if he's not aware of the magic he set in motion. here's to hoping it's a sketch and not a baked good made by steve.


End file.
